Brute
by Emily-Of-Midgard
Summary: An AU of the "The Great Game" in which Sherlock's fear proves to be true, and also in which Moriarty isn't Moriarty.


Title: Brute

Summary: An AU of the "The Great Game" in which Sherlock's fear proves to be true. Also in which Moriarty isn't Moriarty.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mycroft Holmes

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and haven't seen the new series so forgive me if I contradict something said in the new series.

AN: I wrote this in English when we were talking about Shakespeare. I'm going to be hated for this, aren't I?

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><p>The summer his dad walked out, Sherlock Holmes read Shakespeare.<p>

His brother wanted him to learn more about the great writers of England, but even at age nine, he was still the sociopath people would come to know, and hated all the blind relationships the characters stumbled into. This went on for the entire summer, and it finally climaxed in August when Sherlock's father left the family for his secretary and their child who would be born in a few months and Sherlock threw Mycroft's copy of _"Romeo and Juliette" _out the window.

The day school started, the sixteen year old Mycroft walked him to school and handed him a book. It was a worn and battered copy of Shakespeare's _"Julius Caesar"_.

"Please," Mycroft said with an almost begging plea in his voice. "Just read this and TRY not to write sarcastic comments in the margins like you did with _'King Lear'_."Sherlock grumbled under his breath, and Mycroft sighed.

"It would mean a lot to Mummy." He said, and walked off to the high school. Sherlock looked at the torn cover of the book and idly flipped it open.

By the time Mycroft came to collect him for lunch back home, he had already finished the first three acts and was working on the fourth. By the time lunch was over, he had finished it. Even back then, he had been fascinated by crimes, and the murder of Julius Caesar was fascinating to him.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked as they began their walk back to school. "Why did Brutus kill Julius Caesar?"

"Well, he thought he was killing him for the good of the country."

"But, they were friends."

Mycroft sighed. "Sometime, you don't know who's going to betray you next." The word 'Dad' hung unsaid in the air.

As time marched on, he pushed the one of his first experiences of murder out of his mind and replaced it with actual murders. The death of Carl Powers during his high school years was the very first case he solved, and it was also the first case he became aware of a shadow looming over England. It was very faint, but it was there and he was curious.

He did not encounter the shadow again until the day Jennifer Wilson died, which could also be known as the day he met John Watson.

He was annoyed by his new flat mate for a while, but after he killed for a man he had just met, he had to admit, he was curious.

"Why did you do it?" He had asked at the restaurant after it was all said and done. John had smiled.

"Because you are interesting, I suppose, and I don't really want you dead yet."

The cases had come and gone very quickly, and the clues about this 'Moriarty' the cabbie had told him about began to come together. Eventually, this 'Moriarty' began sending him twisted things under the guise of riddles. The last one ended with him going to the pool where Carl died, and he had stood there, waiting for a monster.

He stood there, breathing in chlorine, and he heard an all-too chipper voice from behind him.

"This is a turn up, isn't it?"

He spun around, and his heart, which he had only begun to realize he still had, fell into his stomach.

He had expected anything but this. He had expected a man in a suit with gigantic bodyguards. He had expected a crippled old man with a still very good brain. He had not expected a young man in a jumper with a bright smile. He had not expected John Watson.

He must have shown his utter shock, because John smiled wider. "I believe the term is, _Et Tu Brute?_"

"Quite." He heard himself say. John-Moriarty calmly strolled toward him and for the first time, Sherlock was aware of dots of light on him. Snipers. His mind suddenly flooded with memories of that play he had read so long ago. Caesar had been betrayed by someone he had trusted.

And if Caesar could fall, so could Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
